


Be Good, for Goodness' Sake

by Steals_Thyme (Liodain)



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Christmas, Crimebusters Era, Fluff, Handcuffs, Humor, M/M, Oral Fixation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-14
Updated: 2011-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liodain/pseuds/Steals_Thyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Festive shenanigans for the kinkmeme... in April.  My timing is <i>impeccable</i>.  The prompt was for Rorschach to fuck someone's shit up using only a candy cane :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Good, for Goodness' Sake

It's quarter of ten and Rorschach is over an hour late for their Christmas Eve patrol. Dan was worried for a while, then figured his partner was probably interrupting some harmless revelry somewhere, and decided to feel fed-up instead. He'd excused himself from attending dinner with his great aunt, pleading a social engagement, and then from the Raptor Research Foundation's annual gala under the pretense of spending time with family.

Figures he'd end up on his own, making futile overtures at the fireplace with balled-up newspaper and safety matches. He can't remember the last time he managed to get the damn thing lit, but he is in the mood for some real warmth.

He sighs, tosses the gutted remains of the _Gazette_ aside and turns on WPIX's Yule Log instead. The sofa creaks as he slumps back into the upholstery; he lets himself drift away to the strains of Nat King Cole and the looped crackle of the fire.

Mantovani's cascading strings are playing when he starts awake, and he's immediately conscious of the shadowy figure skulking around his Christmas tree: a ragged Santa in an old fedora and a slimy trench coat.

"Ho ho ho," he says, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his neck. "So, tell me. Have I been naughty or nice this year?"

Rorschach straightens up and tilts his head quizzically, somehow encompassing the festive decorations in that one minute gesture, possibly including the mistletoe in Archie that he doesn't even know about yet. "Thought you were Jewish," he says.

Dan raises his eyebrows at that. "Why, because I'm called Dreiberg? Or because my father was a banker?"

Rorschach shrugs, and raises a hand up to his face as though to touch his nose.

I swear to god, Dan thinks, if he mentions my _distinctive profile_ I will do something that gets me right to the top of the naughty list. "Actually, I'm a lapsed Calvinist," he says instead.

"Hm," Rorschach says. "I see."

Well, at least he didn't say 'good'. Dan notices his partner is clutching a small parcel in one hand; it's wrapped in brown paper and tied with gardening twine. He takes the opportunity to change the subject. "I, uh. Is that for me?"

"Didn't mean to wake you," Rorschach says, which Dan takes to mean 'yes, and don't make something out of this unanticipated display of sentimentality or you won't see me for a week'.

Dan grins so brightly his face hurts.

"Buddy," he says, "you shouldn't have."

"Starting to think so, too," Rorschach says. He's standing stock-still, gift held away from him like it's a live rat. Or maybe a dead one.

He really shouldn't have, Dan realizes with an awful sinking in his stomach, because Dan didn't. He started out with every intention, but somehow shuffled Rorschach's name to the bottom of the list as he consistently failed to think of anything to get him. Besides, he wouldn't like it, he'd feel uncomfortable, he'd be scornful of the gesture—any excuse.

Right now, Dan feels like kind of a dick.

"Oh, here!" he says, lurching to his feet then to his knees, rummaging through the kaleidoscope of gift-wrap under the tree. Aha: _To my dear Daniel, with love from Aunt Maud_. Dan tugs off the tag and hides it in his pocket. Straightening up with only a couple of tree decorations getting caught in his hair, he offers the present to a hovering Rorschach; they exchange gifts with heretofore unobserved levels of awkwardness.

"Hurm," Rorschach says, and plucks at the sparkly ribbon.

Please be socks, Dan thinks. Oh yes, thank you Aunt Maud. He sets about unwrapping his own gift—and what lunatic tied _this_ knot—but his attention is brought back to Rorschach when he makes a very unusual noise.

"Not sure if this is an appropriate gift," Rorschach says, shaking out a pair of underpants. "For your business partner."

"Uhh," Dan explains.

"Appreciate thought, however."

Dan props up his smile and snaps the twine in a last-ditch attempt to emancipate his gift. "Yeah. Sorry it's nothing, um. Exciting." The parcel paper unravels in his hands, and he's left with a pair of handcuffs. "But, you know," he says, holding them up to the light, "always come in useful. Huh."

"Noticed you didn't get yours back after last bust. Irresponsible handling of personal property by police."

"I'm touched," Dan says. He doesn't really want to ask where Rorschach got the handcuffs, but they are well-oiled and the ratchet has definitely seen a lot of use. "Tit for tat?"

"Quid pro quo." Rorschach filches a candy cane from the tree. "Shall we?"

"You still want to? It _is_ Christmas Eve, and it's getting kinda late."

"I know. Criminals know, too. Everyone rendered unconscious by their celebratory overindulgences. Find the tree, find the gifts left in convenient piles. Rich pickings, gift-wrapped for their convenience."

Dan recognizes a run-up to an extended righteous diatribe™ (festive edition) when he sees one. "Okay, okay," he says, snapping the cuffs closed. "Come on, then. Let's test these beauties out."

Rorschach thumbs up the bottom of his mask and grips the candy cane between chipped teeth, nods solemnly.

[#]

"So," Dan says, cape drawn around himself to deflect the wind's cutting edge. "You were kinda late tonight." It's part gentle needling, part genuine curiosity. Rorschach is punctual except in extenuating circumstances, such as calamitous injury, but he seems fit enough.

"Took longer than usual getting over," Rorschach says, hunching his shoulders and burying his chin into his scarf. His mask is still half-up, candy cane wedged firmly in the corner of his mouth. "Interrupted on the way by... disturbance of the peace."

"Yeah, no kidding. I'm surprised you got here at all if you stopped every person who was a little drunk."

"Hrrm. Worse than that, Daniel. Had mistletoe. Very alarming encounter." Rorschach purses his lips, shifts the candy cane to the other side of his mouth then draws it out with a graceless slurp.

Dan tries not to stare when Rorschach runs his tongue over his lips, slow and thorough, and slides the cane back into his mouth. Dan hopes he isn't going to fellate the thing _all_ night, god damn.

"What," Rorschach growls, striped cane bobbing as he speaks.

"Uh, nothing. Well, that's got kind of a mean point on it now, buddy. Tell me we won't finish the night with me stitching up a hole in your cheek."

Rorschach snorts and gives his head a derisive shake, but stows the candy cane well before the next drunk decides it would be an awesome idea to bag a mask for Christmas. Afterward, Dan watches with amusement as he spends a good ten minutes picking off the pocket lint.

[#]

If there's one thing lower than stealing gifts from disadvantaged children on Christmas Eve, it's stealing gifts from disadvantaged children on Christmas Eve while dressed as Santa Claus. Rorschach is of a similar opinion, if the way he's pinned the guy against the wall of the group home and is shaking him hard enough to dislodge his polyester beard is any indication. Santa tried to talk his way out of it, pleading a mix-up, which Dan could have told him was completely the wrong thing to do, kind of like using gasoline to put out a fire.

"Think we're stupid?" Rorschach says, and from the look on the punk's face it's clear that he has glimpsed the frightening terror that is Rorschach when he's completely, furiously calm.

There's a faint ripping sound as the flimsy Santa suit starts to gives way, and the kid's hysterical giggle flattens out into a long whine as he slides down the wall. Dan takes his new cuffs out of his belt with an appreciative flourish; as he kneels to restrain the kid, he catches Rorschach rummaging in his pocket from the corner of his eye.

"Oh god," Santa chokes out. "Please don't hurt me!"

Dan snaps his attention to his partner, and marvels at the sight of him looming over their captive, wielding the candy cane like a prison shiv. A guy coming at you with a bit of red and white sugar shouldn't be as terrifying as it is.

"Can't promise that," Rorschach says, and conjures a tattered piece of notepaper, marked with his signature, out of thin air. Dan wonders if he keeps a supply of them up his sleeve.

"No," Santa says, wide-eyed under a grubby fringe of fake curls. "No, no, please!"

"Wait, hey, wait..." The panic in the kid's voice is infectious. Dan raises his hand, makes a steadying gesture. "Rorschach, what are you...!"

Rorschach lunges, pins his note by burying the sharp end of the candy cane deep into the kid's belly.

Dan feels the air whoosh out of his own lungs like he's been kicked in the stomach. "Oh my _god_ ," he says, reeling. "Why did you _do th—_ "

"Aw maaaan," the kid interrupts, fear evaporating in the heat of raging indignation. "What the hell man, that's fucking out of line. I'm not gonna get my deposit back now, you asshole."

"Hrm," Rorschach says. "Least of your worries. But if you insist." He pulls the candy cane out of the kid's rotund Santa belly. Instead of the spurt of dark blood Dan is expecting, there's a froth of synthetic padding stuck to the end of the confectionery. Rorschach tucks his note into the elasticated beard instead.

He hauls the kid to his feet, cane back between his teeth to free up his hands. Still kind of dazed, Dan takes the kid when he's shoved his way. There's a sharp crack as Rorschach bites down, crunches, spits out the fabric.

"Son of a," Dan says, shakes his head, shakes off the horror. "You're gonna be the death of me."

Rorschach shrugs. "Would be comparatively merciful."

They're not far from the precinct house, so they shunt their reluctant charge up the steps and into the station. Dan usually deals with the desk sergeant, but for whatever reason, Rorschach is asserting himself tonight. Dan hangs back while his partner grumbles in low tones, then slightly terser tones, until the desk sergeant makes a long-suffering reply and gets to his feet, leads the kid away.

"Are we good?" Dan asks.

"Not yet."

Rorschach stands stoic, hands in pockets. He has the patience of a mountain about the most arbitrary things, sometimes.

Dan fidgets with this goggles. "What are we waiting for?"

Rorschach grunts when the desk sergeant reappears, and unsurprisingly that's as much of an answer as Dan is going to get. There's a few more short words and something changes hands, and then Rorschach strides out of the door, Dan tugged along in his wake.

[#]

"Shit," Dan says. They're cruising home in Archie, getting warmed through by means of a big mug of coffee each.

Rorschach tilts his head, makes a questioning noise around the new candy cane he's acquired from somewhere.

Dan's heart sinks. He is an ungrateful, inconsiderate ass. "I, uh. Forgot to get my cuffs back." He sighs. "I'm really sorry, man. They were a brand n— uh, they were a gift. A gift from _you_ , and I..."

Rorschach is on his feet abruptly, looming; Dan tries an apologetic wince.

"Very bad, Daniel," Rorschach says. "Careless."

"I know, I know. I'll go back and fetch em." He reaches for the thrust lever with every intention of heading back to the station house. But Rorschach moves, too; there's the whisper of metal on leather, a familiar rattle and an even more familiar click, and Dan finds that he is neatly cuffed to the pilot seat.

Rorschach plucks the coffee mug from his other hand, slides it onto the dash. "No need. Remembered to collect them for you."

"Uhh," Dan says, because what exactly is going on here? He tests his bond, pulls the chain tight. "Thank you," he says, with all sincerity. Then, hopeful: "Um. Let me free?"

"Should I forgive you that easily," Rorschach asks. His hands are braced either side of the pilot's seat, though even this close, Dan can't tell if he's truly offended. The set of his mouth gives nothing away; the ink of his mask shifts as cryptically as ever.

"'Tis the season of good will?" Dan ventures.

"Humbug."

Dan grins.

"Don't think I didn't notice mistletoe," Rorschach says. "Licentious."

"Festive."

"Presumptuous."

"A subtle hint."

"Not as subtle as you think."

Dan laughs, silently concedes the point. He's about to suggest something even less subtle when the autopilot chimes: time to go manual to land. "Hey, could you? I need to—"

Rorschach turns to tend the console, presses buttons in slow sequence. Dan senses the shift in the ship's power, the slight change in pitch of engine noises as Archie comes to a halt, hanging among the strata of clouds. All is calm and bright.

"Past midnight," Rorschach says, returning to stand over the pilot seat with his arms braced either side, and this time, his knee has found itself between Dan's. He leans in close, black and white filling Dan's field of vision like a starmap in negative.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," Dan says, reminding Rorschach that he still has one hand free by tugging him by the lapel. The hook of the candy cane bumps against his nose. He tilts his head, fits it between his teeth. Carefully draws it out of Rorschach's suddenly slack mouth, then grasps it with his free hand and gives it a long, slow, ridiculously suggestive lick. "So. About that mistletoe..."


End file.
